Friday, October 22, 2004
there's something so very utterly romantic the way the rain trickles softly down glass panels and window sills. especially when your hard at work, head bent, chewing nails, sideburns tucked neatly behind your ears while the top of your crown looks matted and roughly tousled with your other hand clutching the frizzy ends in disciplined earnestness. so it was today as i pored over lines and lines of econs that i turned to stare out of the window i was sitting beside. raindrops sailed down happily as i watched millions others spatter themselves onto the glass and smeared their fat dropsy bodies into mercurial trails and smiley faces on the other side of the glass. i put my finger onto one voluptuous rainblob and watched the little smidgen ease itself gently away from my magnetic hold, skating down to join the rest at the bottom.
i had the pang of urgency to blog. no laptop so i scribbled on a piece of paper napkin this:
"there's something so very utterly romantic
the way the rain trickles ethereally
down glass panels and window sills,
waving their flubber hands at you,
you who are oblivious to freedom and magic
beyond the looking glass"
words written on a paper napkin. how unusually cliched. but how homespun and rustic, that homey cozy huddled up state, with sugarcult and coffee melodies and lavendar fresh ovenbaked potatoes smells. a glass pane, bursting clouds and showers of fresh out of laundry raindrops.
i've been thinking about that paper napkin. maybe a waiter clearing my messy table spots the scrawling lines and becomes enchanted by this anonymous writer. or maybe it'll get thrown into the bin with the rest of the not so extraordinary napkins and the garbageman, seeing it at the top of the pile will read it unexpectedly and his eyes will crinkle while he envisions similar picturesque settings at home. or i don't know.. maybe the next occupier of my seat would keep the embellished napkin as a memento, moved in indiscernible ways by those words.
no more pipe dreams. often i get carried away and more often than not get embarrassed by my illusory dreams again.
but can i just say that it is entirely quixotic how a spontaneous pen writes on any surface it finds. the ink soaking through and through. a moment of glory and reckoning, transient no doubt, but still very very uplifting in its own special way.
Joyce Lim unzipped at 10:45 PM with 1 comments
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